


Between Two Points

by xenoamorist



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Captain Williams, Courtship, Episode: s06e13 The Wedding of River Song, F/M, First Time, Ma'am, Timey-Wimey, Woman on Top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-15
Updated: 2012-01-15
Packaged: 2017-10-29 14:06:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/320737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xenoamorist/pseuds/xenoamorist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She’s always been particularly fond of Captain Williams, although she can never articulate why.  She just knows that he feels familiar and right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Between Two Points

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [insmallpackages](http://insmallpackages.livejournal.com/profile), “Ficlet, Doctor Who, Amy/Rory - sexy shenanigans between "Ma'am" and "Captain Williams"”
> 
> Takes place in an alternate universe in which the Doctor has told Rory the “texting and scones” line, but the Silents haven’t broken out (yet?).
> 
> Thanks to [jetaimerai](http://archiveofourown.org/users/jetaimerai) for betaing and [prosopopeya](http://archiveofourown.org/users/prosopopeya) for cheerleading :)
> 
> Mirrored on Livejournal: <http://momentane.livejournal.com/10623.html>

“Ma’am.”

Madame Amelia Pond looked up. Captain Williams stood in the doorway, gun slung over his shoulder, weight balanced evenly on both feet; he swayed with the movement of the train. The ceiling fan beat overhead. Afternoon sunlight diffused through the curtains and cast a warm glow over the entire room, softening the edges and angles of his figure, the solidity of his frame.

Amelia shuffled her papers and set them down over her latest pile of sketches. A small smile graced her lips.

“Yes, Captain Williams?”

Captain Williams stood a little straighter, as if saluting her with his whole body; the heels of his military boots—laced up neatly, the leather buffed to a gentle shine—dug unto the carpet. Amelia folded her fingers together and rested her hands atop her papers.

“If you have a moment, Captain Sharma would like a word about the last set of research reports she received.”

“Must be pretty urgent if she sent you.”

“I informed her that I already had plans to head in this direction.”

“Thank you.”

Captain Williams turned to leave. He took a step forward, then stopped and turned back around. Raised shoulders. A little more fluidity to his movement. Something—curiosity? hesitation?—brushed over his normally stoic expression. He shifted his weight to one leg and opened his mouth, his brow knitting together as he looked at her.

“That strange man,” he said, his words slow.

Amelia glanced over at the little blue box sitting on the table beside Captain Williams. TARDIS, that was its name. It could travel through space and time. She could wrap her mind around the “traveling through space” part—that much wasn’t any different than trains, or than balloon cars; the TARDIS could simply do so on a much grander scale. It could pinch together different points pop between them. London now. Blink. The deep, shuddering groans of something massive roaring through space, and then—Beijing. Cairo. Reykjavík.

Traveling through time, however... Her dreams, those little memories-not-memories, whispered to her, flashed images before her that showed time as some sort of long, continuous, cloudy vortex, a storm drawn out through space. But to travel requires two points, and time—time was one point, had always _been_ one point: April 22, 2011; 5:02 PM. How was it possible to travel through something with no room for movement?

“The strange man,” Amelia echoed, a fondness in her voice. She tore her eyes away from the TARDIS and glanced back up at Captain Williams, who shifted his weight again and avoided her gaze.

“He told me that you wanted to go for...” He paused and pursed his lips, as if tasting the words, testing them before he spoke. “...‘texting and scones’ with me. Is that right?”

Amelia caught herself mid-snort. No good; she needed to remain dignified in front of the Captain.

“He what?”

A tiny blush unfurled across Captain William’s cheeks, and Amelia’s heart skipped a beat. Captain Williams, her most reliable man, always first to respond to a call with a curt “Ma’am” or “Sir”, his hands steady as he wielded a gun—in all the time she’d known him, she had never seen him flustered. And now, seeing him like this—it was endearing, almost.

Captain Williams rubbed the back of his neck before speaking again, his voice a little more inflected, a little less sure.

“His words exactly, ‘texting and scones’. Ma’am, might I ask...” He furrowed his brow. “What exactly is _texting_? Is that some sort of—research procedure? I did graduate with a degree in Anglo-Egyptian literature before joining the Service; if for some reason you need me to prepare a report—”

She laughed, and Captain Williams looked up, startled.

“Ma’am?”

“Captain,” she said, the brightness of her grin flowing into the word, and Captain Williams stiffened. He palmed the handle of his rifle and adjusted it, his eyes fixed on a point above Amelia’s head. Amelia bit her lip as another laugh rose in her chest. “He’s—he’s a little mad. The point is—”

Captain Williams swallowed, and Amelia traced the bob of his Adam’s apple. A hint of stubble touched his jaw. The cut of his shirt emphasized his shoulders, and his rolled-up sleeves exposed his forearms. A little more slender than most, but still strong; a vein ran over the back of his hand and crawled up his arm, a raised river against his skin. She made a mental note to write a thank-you card to whoever designed the uniforms for the Service; she had yet to see someone that that camouflage _didn’t_ flatter.

“—the point is,” Amelia continued, a hint of a tremble in her voice, her heart fluttering against her ribs, “that we should grab a drink sometime.”

Captain Williams’ eyes widened almost imperceptibly. He coughed, looked away, then looked back at Amelia, daring to meet her eyes as he pulled back his shoulders and shifted his feet.

“A—a drink.”

“Yes.”

“I—”

“Bacchus’s Taverna, after the last shift. Will you be available?”

Captain Williams jerked his head in a nod.

“Yes. Ma’am.”

“‘Amelia’ is fine, Captain.”

“Ma’am.” Captain Williams gulped again. “I am not—in a position to call you by anything other than your title.”

“If you insist.” Amelia stood. “Well, I won’t keep Captain Sharma waiting.”

She stepped across the room and brushed past Captain Williams as she exited, and even the touch of her hair, the drag of her clothing against his, thrilled her and sent lightning coursing through her. As her heels clacked against the hardwood floor of the cabin hallway, she replayed the tiny sound that she’d captured and bottled away in her mind as she passed Captain Williams—that little intake of breath, a rush of air trapped in Captain William’s throat.

She smiled.

❧

The sun set, and time did not pass.

At first, she had not found that to be a cause for concern. That was the way it always was—the sun rose and set; the moon followed in pursuit. And the hands on the clock pointed to the same numbers; days passed, and the date remained the same.

But things still _happened_. A sequence of before and after still existed. Cause and effect were still points strung together on a line.

But that line tangled sometimes. Crossed over itself and looped in on itself, jumbled into a mess. The air raids had already happened, but sometimes they were still happening, and sometimes they hadn’t happened yet. People died, only they didn’t; St George’s hospital had a geriatrics ward, but no one aged.

And she could still be late to appointments.

“Did you wait long?” Amelia said as she slid into the seat across from Captain Williams. Her boat-neck shirt hung off her shoulder, and her jeans tightened against her thighs as she sat. Captain Williams looked out-of-place in civilian dress, or maybe it was just the suit he was wearing. The frilly collar made him look old, stuffy, and he could definitely do better than tweed.

“No,” Captain Williams said. An empty glass sat in front of him. A ring of froth—beer, no doubt—clung to the bottom, and only a few pretzels remained in the little basket between them. Amelia raised an eyebrow.

“Sorry,” she said. She flagged down a waiter. “Two beers, please.”

The waiter nodded and left. Amelia turned back to Captain Williams and folded her hands under her chin.

“This round’s on me,” she said, and Captain Williams frowned. Amelia cut him off before he could open his mouth to protest. “Come on, only those boring Victorian types insist on the man paying. I’ve got it. After all,” she said, leaning in a little closer, “I was the one who asked you out in the first place.”

“Fine,” he said, lowering his head just a notch. Amelia laughed.

“Cheer up,” she said, leaning over and lifting his head, her fingers slender and graceful. A faint shade of pink tinged Captain Williams’ face, but his expression remained stoic. Amelia sat back down in her seat and crossed her arms. “‘Captain Williams’—are you going to tell me your first name, or shall I continue calling you that?”

Captain Williams tugged at his collar. “‘Captain Williams’ is fine, Ma’am,” he said, then paused and began again, his voice a little more hurried. “It’s not that I want to purposefully withhold information from you; it’s just that—you are a Madame, after all, and I am still only a Captain, and I am—not yet comfortable with being on a first-name basis.”

Amelia smiled softly at him. She had always been comfortable in his presence, even though she couldn’t quite explain why; even with a dozen other Captains under her command, she still felt the fondest toward him. She would have been more than happy being on a first-name basis with Captain Williams—she wouldn’t have minded even if they’d started calling each other by their first names within the first few days of working together—but if this was what Captain Williams preferred, then she’d run with it.

The waiter swung by and set two bubbling glasses before them. Amelia raised one and tilted her head.

“All right then, Captain Williams. Cheers.”

❧

A few beers later and she was buzzed. Past buzzed. She grinned lazily at Captain Williams, and he stopped in the middle of his story about the night a pterodactyl swooped into his bedroom.

“You’re really cute, you know that?” Amelia said, finger tracing the rim of her glass. Captain Williams’ mouth hung open for a half-second before he closed it and frowned slightly.

“I’m... not sure how to respond to that, Ma’am.”

“Yeah, I guess there’s not really a good response,” Amelia said, leaning back in her chair. “Agree and you sound like a stuck-up bastard; disagree and you sound like you’ve got no self-confidence.” She cocked an eyebrow and smirked. Something warm floated around in her stomach, and she bounced off of it as she continued speaking. “So let’s change the topic—your place or mine?”

Captain Williams choked on his sip of beer. He set the glass down and dabbed at his mouth with a napkin.

“That’s quite... forward,” he said, and Amelia laughed and waved away his concerns.

“ _I’m_ quite forward,” she said, leaning in, her elbows against the table. “Why bother being subtle and dropping all these hints that confuse everyone? Might as well just get on with it; saves the world a whole lot of trouble.” She grinned. “Well?”

“Ma’am, I—” Captain Williams paused and looked away. He picked up his napkin again and tore the corners as he furrowed his brow and rolled his lips against each other. “I’m sorry. I’m not a first-date kind of guy.”

Amelia cocked her head. Captain Williams was still avoiding her gaze, and a series of minute motions passed over his face: a twitch of an eyebrow, the curve of his lip curling somewhat as he pulled it between his teeth, eyes narrowing subtly as thoughts no doubt raced through his mind. He let out a small sigh, and his chest hitched before he spoke again.

“And if I have you, then I would prefer for the both of us to be sober,” he said, lifting his eyes to meet hers. His expression was no longer flustered, but serious. “So that—so that I know we won’t regret a moment of it.”

Her heart skipped a beat. Her throat felt tight, and her breaths were too shallow. Captain Williams—no, he never really was one of those throwaway guys, there for a night’s worth of mutual satisfaction. He cared for her. Always had, now that she thought about it—he was always by her side, always checked in with her before rushing off to his next assignment.

She smiled. Warmly, and, she hoped, appreciatively. She placed her hand over his, and she could feel his fingers trembling, could almost feel the beat of his heart through his veins.

“Then let’s have another date. When are you free?”

❧

On their third date, she slipped her hand into his as they sat at the top of the London Eye, the city a glittering tapestry of lights spread out beneath them. She rested her head against his shoulder as she watched a balloon car float past them.

“Does it all ever feel strange to you?” she murmured, eyes tracking the flickering flame beneath the balloon. The polished metal of the car caught that light, and shades of copper and gold danced across the hood. “Like there’s something a little out of place?”

Captain Williams looked down at her. His shoulder stiffened for a second before she felt the weight of his head leaning against hers, his hair tickling her face. A man with a jetpack zoomed past the balloon car, and the honk of the car’s horn pierced through the air. Somewhere down below, Amelia could make out the shape of a giant ground sloth. Perhaps one of the Queen’s.

“What do you mean?” Captain Williams said, and Amelia closed her eyes as his voice rumbled through her bones.

“I don’t know,” she said, then sighed, her eyes fluttering open again. “How can we remember things if everything happens all at once?”

Captain Williams squeezed her hand. The movement was tiny, gone in an instant, but the feeling of it, their fingers tight against each other, reassured her.

“The only thing that really matters is now,” Captain Williams said. Amelia pulled her hand away from him and sat up; she turned her body toward him as the Eye jerked into movement again, bringing them slowly down to the ground.

She cupped his face in her hand and leaned in to kiss him.

❧

On the eighth date—ninth date—she’d lost count, and the numbers didn’t really matter anyway—they’d gone to see _Much Ado About Nothing_ at the the Globe Theater. Shakespeare himself had been present to open the play, and he was much more handsome than Amelia imagined.

“Well,” Captain Williams said, the outline of the theater behind him, “I suppose this is good night.”

He was dressed in a much smarter and much more flattering suit this time, and she wore a sleek red dress. The night air whipped at her hair, and she shivered as she drew closer to him.

“Doesn’t have to be,” she said, then smirked. “Well? My place or yours?”

A small smile played over Captain Williams’ face, and Amelia almost laughed as his eyes wandered over her. Not exactly Captain Subtlety, but she didn’t mind.

“Which would you prefer?”

“Mine.”

❧

Their clothes lay in a few haphazard piles on the floor, and, well, she knew that Service members had to undergo physical exams on a regular basis to make sure that they were fit and in good health, but that knowledge still didn’t prepare her for the sight of his bare chest or the curve of his thighs. He wasn’t the most well-built of the bunch, and he was definitely no Hercules. But there was still something about him, about the way shadows fell on his skin and highlighted the dips and swells of the muscles on his back, that made her heart beat faster and made her breath catch in her throat.

And this—the little shaky kisses against her neck, each one reserved and tentative and yet utterly electrifying—this felt familiar. Comforting. As if she’d been longing for it, waiting for it; as if she were reclaiming something that she’d lost.

“Amelia,” Captain Williams whispered, and she nestled her nose into the hollow between his neck and his shoulder, that little triangle behind his collarbone. She pressed her lips to his skin, breathed in the smell of him: sweat, salty like ocean air, mixed in with a dab of some kind of cologne, with an underlying note of _him_. Like rain on freshly-turned dirt, but even that didn’t fully describe his scent.

“ _Amelia_ ,” he whispered again, this time more urgent. His fingers traced paths down her arm and came to a rest atop the swell of her breast. He played with her nipple, and she bit back a groan. Her pillow rustled beneath her as she pressed her head back into the case, her hair fanning out beneath her; she pulled herself away from his shoulders and tilted her head up, searching for a kiss.

His lips met hers. They fit together, like this: his arms wrapped around her waist, her legs parted around him, her calf brushing against his. Her eyelashes kissed his cheek; his eye drive was cool against her skin. She almost wanted to tear that patch off—wanted to look into those green eyes for all they were, wanted to drown herself in them, in both those pools of color.

But she directed the clench of her fingers to the sheets instead. She couldn’t risk that—couldn’t throw away all of that data for a moment’s worth of pleasure.

She could feel him nudging against her inner thigh, and she turned and buried her face in her pillow as she rocked her hips forward, just barely, just enough so the head of his cock touched her lips.

“Captain,” she said, her voice hoarse. “Can we—can I— _please_ —”

“Anything for you,” he said, leaning forward, parting her and entering her. He was gentle, so gentle, and she felt it as every inch of him filled her, as they slotted together. She pulled harder at the sheets and let her eyes wander—took in the sight of his slender hips between hers, the muscles of his chest above hers, the tension in his shoulders and the curve of his neck, the line of his jaw; the space between his lips as his eyes squeezed shut.

“You’re gorgeous,” she murmured, and fire raged through her as he smiled. A tiny, secret smile, one that not only turned up the corners of his mouth, but crinkled the edges of his eyes, made his whole face light up with a soft glow.

“Look who’s talking,” he said, and thrust into her, with care. She threw back her head and let a moan escape past her lips.

He went slowly, and she would have barked out an impatient order to go faster, or harder, if not for the way his hands cradled her hips, the way he pressed a kiss to her forehead. He fucked her with care, with love and reverence, and she felt her own heart swelling as he built up a rhythm, coaxing little, obscene sounds from her.

“God, I’ve been dreaming about this,” Captain Williams said, his breaths ragged and hot against her ear, and Amelia arched her back and pressed her chest to his.

“Yeah?” Amelia said, opening her eyes, a wicked grin on her face. “Do you think about this while you touch yourself?”

Captain Williams’ hips bucked as his eyes widened and he blushed a deep, brilliant red.

“I—”

“Everyone does it,” Amelia said, pulling him in close for a hungry kiss. She parted from him, and he made a tiny sound of protest before she flipped him over and straddled him, lowering herself to meet him. “Including me.”

“Do you—” Captain Williams said, then clamped his jaw shut as Amelia began to ride him, her hips slapping against his.

“—do I what, Captain?”

“Do you—” Captain Williams began again, his voice trembling as his lips struggled to form words. “Do you—think about me, when you—”

He moaned, cutting off his words, and Amelia grinned wider and leaned down to stroke his jaw and place a finger under his chin.

“When I what? Don’t make me invoke my position as Madame to order you to answer.”

Captain Williams gasped, his hips involuntarily thrusting against hers, and she bit her lip.

“When you touch yourself, Ma’am,” he said, words breathless, eyes widening.

“Oh God yes,” Amelia said, stretching her body out above him, her curves long and feline; she threaded her fingers through his hair and pulled his head back as she continued to rock her hips against him. She nipped at his exposed neck. “Just last night, I was thinking about you while I was in the bath, all wet and slippery—”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Captain Williams groaned. He rocked his hips against hers, and they fell into a rhythm together; his hands groped against the sheets, against her thighs until they latched onto her waist, rested on her hips. Amelia moaned, head spinning, heart thumping, pleasure cresting through her.

“Captain,” she whispered, and Captain Williams rolled his head to the side, muffled his own moans in the pillow, his neck tense, his chest tightening as he pounded into her with more fervor, more need.

“Fuck,” he murmured, then turned his head back, his whole body moving with her, worshipping her. “Amelia—God— _Amy_ —”

And something sparked through her, broke over her, and the wave of pleasure and orgasm drowned her—but it wasn’t just pleasure, wasn’t just physical feeling. Her mind blanked out in a wash of white as flashes of memories burst behind her eyes and layered on top of each other. A smile. A laugh. The gleaming armor of a Centurion; nurse scrubs that never fit quite right; a black suit and tie, so stark in contrast against the white of her gown. The feeling of him, his presence, so stable: his words soothing against her ear as tears streamed down her cheeks; his own hesitant smile a mirror of the unrestrained joy in her grin.

Captain Williams, silent save for the sound of his breaths, gave a couple more thrusts before he came as well, chest heaving. Her body writhed for a few more moments, devoid of any control, before she steadied herself on shaking arms and collapsed into his chest.

“Oh God,” she said, her fingers desperate for him, searching for a hold on his skin until they came to a rest on his shoulder. An explosion of emotions pumped through her, and she didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry as realization flooded her mind and soul. “Oh God, you’re my Rory, aren’t you?”

“Amelia—”

“Amy. Call me Amy.” She looked up at him, eyes pleading, and saw concern on his face. “Please.”

Captain Williams gazed into her eyes, and she felt as if he were seeing through her, seeing everything that had welled up inside her. He swallowed and nodded.

“When you are Ma’am, I am Captain Williams.” He placed a hand against the small of her back, and she relaxed into it, let her body flow into his touch. “And—when you’re Amy—I’m Rory. Rory Williams.”

“Rory,” she murmured. “ _Rory._ ”

She pressed her whole body, slick with sweat, against his, and pulled him into a tight embrace, buried her face in his chest. Her hair stuck to her forehead, and it was almost too hot, clinging to him like this. But she needed to—needed to replay all those memories in her mind, needed to know that he was real and here, needed to anchor him in this reality and to remember, to seal all those images onto him. Paper and pencil weren’t enough for all that Rory was; this body, this vessel before her, this person—she could only capture him with all of her heart, all of the emotion for Rory that was and is and ever would be.

“I’ve found you.”


End file.
